Restless
by CailenBraern
Summary: Whilst resting on their travels in Emyn Muil, Sam faces an unexpected realisation whilst watching his master sleep restlessly. r+r please


Frodo tossed and turned beneath the thin ragged sheets. The air was thick and fiercely warm, yet the old hobbit shivered and clung to the sheets as if he had set camp on the Pass of Caradhras itself.  
  
Sam sat perched on a rock, overlooking his dear master. It had been two weeks since he had rescued him from the orcs, but his joy to see Frodo alive was quickly extinguished by the despair he felt, seeing Frodo withdraw ever more into himself.  
  
He should have helped him with his burden. Done something to alleviate his pain, but he didn't.  
  
Now he watched him writhing, haunted by the spirit of the Dark Lord himself. His master's frenzied movements had awakened Sam from his sleep and he didn't much fancy returning, and letting Frodo be.  
  
The moonlight shone down upon Frodo's conflicted expression, casting gaunt shadows and highlighting his pale complexion. Sam hated it so much so that he had remained a good build and of rosy complexion whilst his master was slowly fading away.  
  
"Well there's only one way to fix that then, Samwise. You ought to start giving Mr. Frodo your share of the rations. After all he needs them a great deal more than you I reckon, else this quest will come to a standstill when he collapses from hunger and dehydration."  
  
A whimper escaped from Frodo, whose eyes were scrunched shut tightly.  
  
"Now what's to be done about this?" Sam wondered aloud. "It pains me right down to me bones to see him like this, but I can't wake him up. The times you've done that before Samwise, you've ended up with a panicked, frightened master, and it'd hurt be even more to see him like that, wouldn't it? Better to let him dream and be there for him when he wakes up, that always works out better." He sighed and looked back down at Frodo. His master had rolled onto his side and had pulled his knees up to his chest.  
  
"But I can't let him be, can I? And look at him, he looks as if he'll catch his death from cold, and here I am, warmer than one of Mrs Cotton's pies. Samwise Gamgee, the gaffer was right. You'd have to be a ninnyhammer if you didn't think of this sooner." He stood up off of the rock, stretching his legs as he ambled over to his master. He crouched down beside Frodo, and gently swept the dark brown curls that had fallen into his eyes away. He resumed his position in the camp, so that they were lying, facing each other. He pulled Frodo close to him in an embrace.  
  
Sam gasped aloud. His master really was cold. Colder than ice itself. He wouldn't have that, he told himself. He hugged his master even tighter to him, desperately trying and hoping to pass on his own warmth to Frodo.  
  
Many times during their travels and adventures, Sam had wished constantly that he were back at home. Back in Mr. Frodo's garden, digging up the weeds and pruning the rose bushes. But as much as he hated to be there, he hated that Frodo was alongside with him. He didn't need this; he didn't deserve to carry this thing of evil all the way to the dark land itself. Frodo was a gentleman of class, a genuine, upper class hobbit, and he didn't deserve to come so far and lose so much.  
  
Because he had lost so much. Sam wasn't that much of a fool not to see that. The thing that hurt him the most was that he knew his master could never be the same. Even if they completed their quest and made it back to the shire, Frodo would never quite heal fully from the experience. Sam wished that he could heal his wounds better, make him the bookish, reclusive friend he once was. But all the love he could give him would never make things any better.  
  
Sam sighed once more as he felt the temperature of his sleeping companion. To his relief he was warming up slowly, but he was still moaning and quivering from fright.  
  
Would things return to normal as far as they were concerned? Would he carry on working in the garden, whilst Frodo sat at his study window, smiling as he nursed the garden to life. If the ring succeeded in it's battle for Frodo's mind, then would Sam lose the best friend he ever had? The only person he'd ever loved?  
  
Sam pulled away suddenly, a little surprised with his own thoughts. "The only person I love? But he's not, I love me mum, and my sisters, and my older brothers of course." He said aloud.  
  
'No you fool, not that kind of love. Real love, true love, warm love.' His voice inside told him. 'You've known him since you were a child, how could you not grow to love him, to love everything about him? No-one knows you better than he does, and you're the only one he trusts to know anything about him excepting his cousins.'  
  
Sam rolled onto his back and sat up, processing this, not quite believing, but at the same time knowing all along.  
  
"That's why I came on this quest then. To look after him, to make sure he gets back safe, and nobody hurt's 'im." He looked down at his master, who was stirring from his slumber after noticing the lack of warmth that he had gotten used to. He opened his eyes to look up at Sam, who was sitting bolt upright.  
  
"Sam?" He squinted, worry in his voice and eyes. "Are you alright?"  
  
Sam nodded and turned away, guilt filling him. "Yes sir, just a bad dream is all. Go back to sleep sir, get your rest." He turned back to face him, trying his hardest not to blush from the awkwardness of his realized feelings. "Don't worry about me Mr. Frodo." 


End file.
